


Mark of the Angel

by RosaleenBan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Powers, BAMF Castiel, Dean is an Idiot, Happy Ending, M/M, Mark of Cain, Profound Bond, Protective Castiel, SPN AU Big Bang 2016, Sam Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaleenBan/pseuds/RosaleenBan
Summary: Dean took the Mark of Cain, knowing it would change him. What he didn’t remember was that he already carried the hand-print Mark of an immortal being. And Castiel isn’t one to share.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful Nonexistenz has created some absolutely lovely art for this at:  
> http://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/post/155971257832
> 
> Thank you!

http://nonexistenz.tumblr.com/post/155971257832

 

“You have to know with the Mark comes a great burden. Some would call it a great cost.”

Dean knew he was screwed. He knew it, and he still didn’t pull his hand away from where it was clasped with Cain’s. He just kept moving forward, the only thing he knew how to do anymore.

“Yeah, well, spare me the warning label. You had me at "kill the bitch,” he said instead. There was nothing else he could do. Nothing but the job.

“Good luck, Dean. You're gonna to need it.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he spat out. “Let's dance.”

Cain adjusted their grip, grasping Dean’s forearm. Black, angry veins traced over the old man’s arm, then made their way down Dean’s wrist. It hurt like a bitch, but he didn’t let go. Not that he thought he could. With this many years on the job, he knew enough to know when the damage was already done.

When the Mark appeared on Dean, Cain let go. Dean hissed through the pain and gripped his forearm, inspecting the scar.

“Dean?” Crowley asked after a moment, his clipped accent somehow more irritating than ever.

“I'm fine,” Dean told him gruffly, then looked back to Cain. “All right, where the hell did you stash the damn Blade?”

The old demon stared back at him. “Nothing can destroy the Blade, so I threw it to the bottom of the deepest ocean. It's the only way I could keep my promise to Colette. Find the blade, kill Abaddon, but make me a promise first. When I call you – and I will call – you come find me and use the Blade on me.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

“For what I'm about to do.”

They were suddenly outside the house, next to the Impala. Dean heard a crash and looked back to see demons running into the house with Cain. The windows flared bright red.

Crowley looked back at the house, too. “They're all trapped in there.”

“With him,” Dean agreed darkly. He was about to tell Crowley to get into the Impala and get the hell out of dodge with him, but then a blinding pain ripped through his chest. He gripped his Baby’s hood and did his best to ride it out.

Crowley gave him a strange look, confused by Dean’s sudden and unexplained reaction. Clearly, this was just as new to him as it was to Dean – which meant he had no helpful info, so was not someone Dean wanted around if he was vulnerable. Not someone Dean wanted around at all.

But there was a job to do. “So, how do we find this Blade?” he asked as the pain started to subside. Hopefully, it was a temporary thing.

“You can't search the bottom of the ocean, but I can,” Crowley informed him. “So, I'll find it and bring it to its new owner.”

“Good, you do that,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. “Give me a call when you do.”

He hit the accelerator and burned rubber, leaving a somewhat nonplussed Crowley in his wake.

 

... 

 

Dean had planned to go north to Wisconsin.

There was a clue that he was pretty sure would lead him to Garth there. He could use the kind of case that would let him actually do a friend a solid, instead of the bullshit he felt like he’d been doing lately.

He got an hour north before the next shot of pain washed through him, almost causing him to swerve off the road and into a patch of trees. White fire licked across his shoulders and down his right arm, causing black veins to bulge down his wrist.

It only got worse from there. His right arm was numb half an hour later, and he was sure he was hallucinating. Demons kept popping into his peripheral visions – demons in their true form, as he had seen them in Hell. On the side of the road, in the passenger seat, behind him – but every time he tried to get a good look, they disappeared.

Two and a half hours north, he pulled into a Sunset Motel just south of rt. 70 and muddled his way through getting himself a room. The guy at the front desk probably thought he was high as a kite, but cash was cash, and he was happy enough to take Dean’s and hand him a key. Fortunately, nothing of the Mark was visible under his jacket sleeve.

He barely made it into the room before collapsing onto the floor. He was soaked with sweat, vacillating between far too hot and far too cold, and shivering wildly either way.

Had Crowley planned for this? Had the bastard known how it would affect Dean?

He wasn’t supposed to contact Sam. They were supposed to be working separately, taking different cases, avoiding each other because they were better alone than as a pair.

He didn’t have a choice. He thumbed at his phone, found the favorites tab and managed to get the right name.

“Sammy? I need your help.”

 

...

 

Sam was on his way to Wisconsin when he got Dean’s call. He had a lead on Garth, and thought it would be a good idea to check it out.

Lucky, because he was already in Missouri when he got the message.

 _“Sammy? I need your help. I think I messed up - I’m in a Sunset Motel in Sedalia, Missouri, room 126. Door’s open. Don’t know if I’ll be able to get it myself._ ”

Sam keyed the location into his phone’s map, memorized the route, then tried to call Dean back as he turned off the highway.

No answer.

“Shit,” he swore, gunning it. The sooner he could get to Dean, the better.

He stole a glance at his phone, wondering if he should call Cas. He shouldn’t - the angel was going after Metatron, and they needed him out there hunting him. But he had his mojo back, and if Dean was really in a bind -

He keyed up the angel’s number in his phone.

 _“Sam?_ ” Cas had answered after just one ring.

“Hey, Cas, you busy?”

 _“No more than usual,”_ Castiel told him, voice cool and calm as always.

“I got a voicemail from Dean,” Sam told him. “I think he’s in trouble. Bad. Are you anywhere near Sedalia, Missouri?”

 _“I believe I am four hours and thirteen minutes away, if I disregard lights and speed limits,”_ Cas told him, angelic GPS just as disconcerting as always. It was clear from the change in the tone of Cas’s voice that he would be using every advantage his grace allowed him to get there quicker.

“Alright, I’ll beat you there, but we’ll be waiting for you. Sunset Motel, room 126,” he told the angel before hanging up his phone.

He tossed it in the passenger’s seat and started looking out for speed traps. He was going to use every trick at his disposal to get to Dean as fast as he could, too.

 

...

 

Dean was true to his word: the motel door was open two and a half hours later when Sam burst through it.

He almost smashed Dean’s head in when he did, too, only catching himself at the last moment when he realized Dean was sprawled out on the floor, leaning against the nearest wall. It looked like he had passed out there as soon as he got in: he was still in his jacket, and his keys and phone were strewn across the mottled green and yellow carpet.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, kneeling beside his brother and checking his vitals hurriedly. Sluggish breathing and response, and his temperature was through the roof. “Dean, what happened?”

“’Malright, Sammy,” Dean slurred. “Just gotta cool down. Gotta get it outa me.”

Sam nodded as though he understood his brother, just thankful that he was at least somewhat conscious. “Keep talking to me, Dean. Get what out?” He pulled off Dean’s jacket, then started on his shoes.

“’Snothing,” Dean told him slowly. “Jus’ made a bad call, I guess.”

“What call did you make?” Sam asked, trying not to let any impatience show through his concerned tone. He rushed to the bathroom and started to draw a lukewarm bath. The state of the tub was - well, he would have preferred something cleaner for his sick brother, but it would do.

“The one where we get to kill Abaddon,” Dean told him, a silly, proud grin crossing his face.

The smile was cut short when Dean doubled over, hissing in pain. “Or not,” he conceded.

“Yeah, let’s get you cooled down,” Sam told him. He knelt down beside his brother again and pulled off his flannel over shirt, then swore. “Jesus Christ, Dean, what the Hell did you do?”

Dean’s right arm was covered from elbow to wrist in inky black veins, reminiscent of how Castiel had looked when the Leviathans were in him. In the center of it all, on the underside, was a raised red L-shaped welt with two smaller welts beside it. It was open, sluggishly oozing a red-black puss.

“Took the Mark, Sammy,” Dean told him simply. “Didn’t realize it would be like this.”

Dean slumped back, slipping into unconsciousness.

“Fuck,” Sam said, staring at his brother for a moment, somewhere between confused, terrified, and furious. Beneath that, though, was an uncomfortably detached level curiosity that he refused to entertain. Refused. He shook his head, then got to work on his shirt and jeans, but stopped there. Dean could bathe in his boxers, and fucking like it.

What the Hell had his brother gotten himself into?

Sam carried him awkwardly into the bathroom, then got him into the tub as delicately as he could. He rolled up a dingy brown towel to put behind his brother’s head, then used one of the plastic disposable cups from the sink to pour water over all the parts of Dean that didn’t fit in the bath. He took special care with the welt, cleaning it thoroughly despite Dean’s hiss of pain, then running to the mini-fridge’s freezer and grabbing a questionable old ice pack to hold to it.

Dean stirred a bit, responding to Sam’s ministrations, but not really waking up. It had been a long time since Sam had taken care of his brother like this, and Sam had to force himself to grit his teeth and just work, not concentrating on how bad Dean looked. He wasn’t prepared to see his brother so close to death (again) today.

He sure hoped Cas was making good time.

“Sammy?” Dean rasped pathetically after about fifteen minutes.

“You back with me?” Sam asked, brushing sweat-slicked hair from his brother’s face.

“Yeah, Sammy. Could you help me outa here? ’M cold.”

Sam smiled at his brother and nodded. He put his hand against Dean’s face, and felt that it had cooled to a more reasonable temperature. “Yeah, let me get a towel,” he said, reaching for one.

“Hurts like a bitch,” Dean complained, rather petulantly despite the bite he tried to put into his words.

“I called Cas. He’ll be here soon,” Sam assured his brother as he helped him to stand. “You stick with me for now, he’ll heal you right up later.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean said, but Sam couldn’t hear any hope in his voice. “Don’t tell Cas everything. Not yet.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam lied. He supported his brother and helped him get dry silently, thinking on that. When Sam concentrated on Dean’s arms, he noticed that the red of the welt was not as bad, but the black was now moving up his bicep and toward his chest.

“Where’s your bag?” he asked Dean as he led him to one of the beds, towel around his hips.

“Impala,” Dean said, sitting on the bed and slumping against the wooden headboard.

Sam nodded. “I’m just going to get your stuff, get you into some sleep things,” he explained as if to a child, still keeping his tone as calm as possible. He scooped up the keys from the floor, and picked up Dean’s phone while he was at it, then made his way outside.

As soon as he was out of sight, he let his guard down for a minute. He took a few deep, steadying breaths. “It’s alright,” he told himself, like a mantra. “Dean’s gonna be alright.”

He prayed silently as he made his way to the Impala for Dean’s things, and then back. _Cas? If you can hear me, we need you here as quick as possible. I don’t know what Dean did, but it’s bad._ He concentrated on the image of the black veins up and down Dean’s arm, and the odd, red wound they seemed to originate from. _He’s feverish now. I got him cooled down, but the sooner you can get here, the better._

He didn’t know if Cas heard him or not, but the thought that he might have was enough to calm Sam’s nerves as he opened the door and made his way back to his brother, bags in hand.

Dean tried to take the largest knapsack from him when Sam got to the bed, but Sam pushed him away easily.

“Here, let me,” he said, opening it and rustling through Dean’s things. He helped his brother into a fresh pair of boxers, followed by a soft pair of flannel pains and an old tee-shirt. He took the opportunity to inspect Dean a little more closely: those black veins were obvious, but he had missed another symptom: white paths, crooked and random as lightning, arched their way across Dean’s chest. They were concentrated heavily on the black veins - paving the way for the dark to get through?

Sam clenched his jaw. He hoped not. If that was the case, Dean’s whole chest would be inky black in no time.

He shook his head and pulled the shirt over Dean’s chest. “Lie down,” he told his brother. “I’m going to the vending machine and getting some ice, and something for you to drink. You hungry?”

Dean shook his head no.

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” Sam told him. “Cas’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.”

Dean didn’t answer. When Sam looked back at his brother, he found he was asleep again. He was cooler to the touch though, now, and his breathing was steady.

Hopefully his brother would make it until Cas got there.

Hopefully the angel would be able to help.

 

...

 

Sam sat in a silent vigil over Dean for the next hour, worriedly watching as his temperature climbed again. He switched between cooling Dean’s forehead with a towel soaked in cold water, and cleaning the welt on his arm, though it soon started to ooze something dark and foul again, and would not let up no matter how often he cleaned it.

It seemed to take a lifetime before the door creaked open, revealing a haggard looking Castiel in his trench coat and blue tie. His hair was still a bit long from his sojourn as a human, and Sam could almost swear he had a five o’clock shadow, though his beard didn’t grow as an angel.

“Cas! Thank God you’re here,” Sam said to the angel, though he kept his voice low.

“Yes, though I fear I may have to leave the car here when we leave. I drove through several red lights, at speeds unsafe for humans, to get here.”

Sam smiled wanly. “I’m sure Dean’ll give you a ride in the Impala,” he said. He nodded down to his brother and crossed his arms across his chest. “If you could do anything to get him back in shape, that is.”

Cas looked at Dean, as though he had not yet noticed him there in the room. “Dean!”

He rushed over and sat beside him on the bed, grabbing his arm and inspecting the welt. “What did you do?”

As soon as Cas touched him, Dean yelled out in pain, pulling his arm protectively back to his chest and away from the angel. He curled up on his side around it, moaning in pain, but apparently oblivious to either of them. After a minute, the worst of the pain seemed to subside, and he fell back into a fitful sleep.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his voice hushed.

Cas looked up at Sam, his blue eyes dark and shrouded in concern. “The Mark of Cain,” he said after a pause.

“Cain?” Sam asked. “Like, Cain and Abel?”

“Exactly like Cain and Abel,” Castiel confirmed. “This Mark…” his voice trailed off as he stared down at it.

“What does it mean?” Sam asked. “Why did he react like that?”

“It means that your brother has made a very bad decision,” Castiel said. He reached out and touched Dean’s forehead tentatively. Although Dean immediately recoiled again, it seemed that Cas’s grace had done _something_ at least, because Dean’s breathing started to even out, and he fell into a deeper sleep.

Cas watched Dean for a few long minutes, his face drawn into a perfectly unreadable angel mask. Sam was about to stand up to get himself ready for what little sleep he could find, but then the angel abruptly spoke.

“The Mark of Cain is exactly what it sounds like, Sam,” Castiel told him solemnly. “It was the brand my Father gave to Cain after he slayed Abel. He became a demon, without ever being on the rack, or enduring the Fires of Hell. I don’t even know if he ever actually died.”

“Does that mean -?” Sam asked, not ready to ask the question, but having to know the answer.

“I don’t know,” Castiel told him, the same questions in his eyes. “I suspect that Dean took the Mark for the power it would grant him; he couldn’t have known at what cost. It seems to me as though he is now battling with those consequences. The outcome of that battle will be up to him.” Cas shook his head. “I can’t fix it for him. I think I’ve stabilized him, for now at least, but that’s all I can do. The fact that he can’t abide my touch does not bode well for us, though.”

“What can _we_ do?” Sam asked. “There’s got to be something -”

“We wait for him to wake up, first. From there…?” The angel shrugged, almost comically stiff.

“He’ll wake up though?” Sam asked.

Cas nodded at him. “That, I could do. The fever’s burning itself out now. He’ll be awake by morning, though I don’t know how long he’ll stay that way.”

Sam nodded. That was better than he had any right to hope for, given the circumstances.

“Sam?” When Sam looked up, Cas caught and held his eyes. “We’ll figure out how to save him.”

“I know we will,” Sam told the angel. He wished he believed his own words.

 

...

 

_Dean didn’t know where he was, but he was sure that he didn’t like it. It was dark here, wherever here was, and the shadows reminded him of things he would have preferred to have left forgotten._

_“How could you forget us so soon, my dear Dean?”_

_Dean knew that voice. The owner of it should have been dead - destroyed. Sammy had done it, when he was at his worst. It wasn’t possible that he could be here now, echoing around him._

_And yet it persisted. “Forty years here, and you think less than a decade on Earth is enough to let you truly forget? Maybe it’s time we put you back on the rack. Made you remember.”_

_The white glow of Alistair’s eyes suddenly bore down on him. “Or perhaps you would like the whip, Dean? You bear the Mark of one of us now. Join me, again, like old times?”_

_“Like Hell I will,” Dean spat out._

_Alistair chuckled: a dark, evil sound. “By Hell you will, Dean,” Alistair told him, his voice gently chiding, as though he was correcting a child - or a protégé. “By Lucifer. By Cain. By the names we swear by. You will, too. Soon.”_

_Dean opened his mouth to protest, or to swear at the demon - he wasn’t sure which - when the world fractured around him._

_Hot, white light arced over the pits of Hell, lighting up gruesome scenes: souls held to the racks with meat hooks, being flayed, chopped up, and beaten. Shadowy wisps of demons flew around him, looking for more souls to torture and degrade._

_And the lightning converged on_ him _, and Dean howled his pain._

 _He ran from it. Ran until he couldn’t feel it anymore, couldn’t see its bright light at the edge of his vision - couldn’t see_ anything _. And when he was certain he was away from it, he fell to the ground and curled into a small, defensive ball._

_He had no weapons here. No way to defend himself. Nothing to keep him off the rack._

_Was he really back in Hell?_

_He couldn’t be, though. If he was, he would have never been able to run. He would have never gotten away, especially not so easily._

Not unless they were toying with me, _he thought._

_He curled up tighter. He needed a plan. He needed some way to get away from them - get back to Sammy and Cas -_

**_“Rest, Dean.”_ **

_Dean knew this new voice, too, though he wasn’t used to hearing it at this magnitude. Knew it as well as he knew his own. He lifted his head, but everything was still dark and obscured. “Cas? Cas, where are you, buddy?”_

**_“Later, Dean, you will find me with Sam. Rest for now, away from this place.”_ ** _Cas’s voice sounded like it was coming from Heaven itself, and the timbre of it resonated around Dean, seeping into the fabric of this world._

_The darkness melted away, chased off by Cas’s warm grace. Instead, he found himself in an old growth forest, on a dirt pathway. He stood, and followed it instinctively, knowing that he needed to see wherever it led him to._

_A young child ran out at him out of nowhere, laughing as she passed. She was in an odd, long black dress and a white bonnet, like something out of a Thanksgiving special. Another kid - a boy this time, in a stuffy black suit - followed. “You’re gonna be in so much trouble, Emily!” he cried, though he was giggling, too. “Wait till Mama hears about this!”_

_“You’ll never tell!” the little girl cried as they continued down the path, in the opposite direction as Dean, until they were out of view._

_“Huh,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head, and then continued to walk the way the children had come from._

_It was quiet here; serene. He didn’t encounter any other humans, and only heard the sound of birds above as he walked. The sun was probably bright out there, but the shadows of the leaves made it cool and calming._

_Eventually, the path opened up to a small clearing, with a few dozen graves. Something told him that that was alright, that he didn’t need to do any kind of salt-and-burn here, because they were all at rest._

_In the middle of the clearing was a large, white angel statue. Dean didn’t know what it was made of - certainly not marble, given how humble the graves around it were - but it gleamed bright white and clean, as though it had just been erected. On its head, a lopsided flower crown drooped over one eye - likely a gift from Emily - giving it a weirdly adorable look. Dean walked up to it without thinking, and laid a hand on its chest. It felt warm, alive, like the angels he knew._

Oh _._

_Dean understood._

 

... 

 

Sam was glad when he woke up to see that Dean was still asleep. When he gingerly felt Dean’s cheek with the back of his hand, he found that his brother had cooled down significantly: another good sign.

He was surprised to see that Castiel was also dozing in the motel chair beside Dean’s bed.

“Hey,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder to wake the angel gently. “I didn’t think you needed to do that anymore.”

Castiel frowned. “It’s complicated,” he told Sam vaguely.

Sam nodded, trying for understanding. That particular problem would hopefully wait until after they dealt with Dean’s issues. “I’m going out for a run. I’ll be back with breakfast,” he told the angel. “Keep an eye on him?”

“Of course,” Cas said.

Sam smiled his thanks, then pulled on his shoes. He looked up from tying them when a thought occurred to him. “Want anything for yourself? Or does it all still taste like molecules?”

The angel gave him a thin smile. “My grace is strong enough that I still do not require food, Sam,” Cas assured him. “But thank you.”

“Anytime,” Sam told him, as cheerful as he could get.

The run was good for Sam: it helped him clear his mind and to think on exactly what Dean had done. Going off looking for power like that without back-up was bad enough, but using demons to get it? Hadn’t Dean learned his lesson about dealing with demons? Hadn’t they both?

Apparently not.

There was no changing the past, Sam knew, and he tried not to dwell or get angry about it. At the very least, right now Dean needed Sam to be thinking clearly, because he certainly wasn’t. Instead, Sam tried to plan.

By the time he was done with his run and had picked up breakfast, Sam thought he had a solid enough idea to at least start work. First thing: get Dean back to the bunker.

Dean was awake when he got back, balancing three coffees in a holder and a bag of breakfast sandwiches as he tried to open the motel door.

“We’re going to Massachusetts, Sammy,” his brother said without so much as a ‘hello’ or ‘thank you.’

“Excuse me?” Sam asked, putting the coffees down and arranging Dean’s breakfast (egg white, spinach & cheese on a whole wheat bagel, with no processed meat for the invalid) on a paper plate so it could be eaten in bed. “We need to get you back to the bunker, let you get some rest while Cas and I research this thing. You can’t go all the way up to the Northeast like this.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to,” Dean told him. “I don’t know all the details, but it’s important.”

“You - what?” Sam asked, honestly perplexed now, as he handed Dean his plate.

“Listen, I just know I have to go. I know it sounds crazy, but I had a dream about it, and now - it’s like it’s calling me. And I think you got our orders switched. What the fuck is this rabbit food?” Dean said the last while sneering down at his breakfast.

“I got the same thing. It’s good for you,” Sam told his brother. “So, we’re going to go off to the East Coast, with you so sick you can barely stand up, and what? Look for something from your dream? Do you even know what it is we’d be looking for?”

“Not exactly,” Dean told him. “I don’t exactly remember everything, but I _know_ that we’ve got to go there.”

Sam raised one eyebrow and stared at his brother, hoping he would start making sense soon.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure if we don’t go, I’m gonna die, so can you please just do this for me?” Dean spat out angrily.

Sam sighed. If Dean felt that strongly about it, it was hard to argue, given the circumstances.

“I think we should follow Dean’s plan,” Cas chimed in, picking up his coffee despite his insistence that he didn’t need any form of sustenance. “He was very distraught when he woke up, and nothing I said would calm him until he remembered where he needed to go. I believe that this was something more than a regular dream.”

“Alright,” Sam told them, defeated. “I guess we’re going to Massachusetts. Any idea where?”

“Not a clue,” Dean admitted, and Sam thought he saw some embarrassment in his brother’s face.

“Great,” Sam muttered, mostly to himself. “That’s just great.”

 

...

 

Despite what Sammy might have thought about his condition, Dean was perfectly capable of standing on his own. He could even shower and get to the Impala unimpeded, though both Sam and Castiel vetoed him driving.

“We’ll leave the other cars here,” Sam decided for them. “It’s better if we ride together.”

“I agree,” Castiel said, opening the front passenger door for Dean.

Dean gave a tight smile in thanks, though he wanted to grimace at being treated like an invalid. “Up to you guys,” he said noncommittally as he sat down.

Cas reached in and put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, ostensibly to ask if Dean was comfortable. It was the first time the angel had touched him since Dean had woken up this morning, and it sparked like electricity, and then it _burned._ Dean shouted out in pain as Cas’s fingers brushed his right shoulder. The Mark of Cain flared hot red on his arm, burning bright through his flannel. “Jesus Christ, Cas!” he swore, pulling away from the angel.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel responded, his hand retreating. There was a pain in his eyes that Dean was decidedly not going to acknowledge. “I didn’t think that reaction would persist. Apparently something about the Mark does not like to be in close proximity to my grace.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean snapped.  He reached out and pulled his door closed petulantly, forcing the angel to dance away or get caught in it. Then he threw himself back into the seat, annoyed.

“Twenty hour drive,” Sam warned as he got into the driver’s seat and Cas climbed into the back. “And another twenty-five back to the bunker after that if it doesn’t work. Sure you want to do this?”

“Completely,” Dean told him. His resolve had not wavered. He still didn’t remember much about the dream - something about a statue, somewhere in New England was all he could recall - but he knew he had to get there, and as soon as possible.

Sam nodded and started the car. Selectively rejecting his own rules, Dean picked a mixed tape out and popped it into the cassette player. Sam gave him a sideways look, but didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t - Dean was ill and Sammy was going to play nursemaid. And if that meant Dean had to eat egg whites for breakfast, it also meant he was also going to milk it for all it was worth.

He brushed his fingers over his shoulder, where Cas had touched him. Where the most casual touch had erupted in pain. That, more than anything else, crystallized what he had done to himself in his mind. He couldn’t bear the touch of an angel - of Castiel.

Just thinking of it made him crave the casual touches the two of them were so apt to share. Would this be his life with the Mark? Too defiled to even experience Cas’s touch?

Would whatever he was looking for in Massachusetts fix him?

He settled into the long car ride, haunted by those questions the entire way. When his right arm and chest began to ache again, he almost welcomed the distraction of pain.

 

...

 

By the time they stopped for the night in a small town outside of Buffalo, NY, Castiel was in agony. He felt tortured sitting behind Dean all day, but unable to touch or soothe him of his obvious pain. He was always drawn to do these things - he had been ever since they had forged their bond; it was one of the things that made it so incredibly profound. But doing so caused Dean more pain, and he was not prepared to be responsible for that.

And so he busied himself with unloading the trunk of their three duffel bags, content to do the menial labor so Sam could get them a room and help Dean into it, if needed.

“How are you feeling, Dean?” Sam asked when they were all in the dingy motel room and sorting themselves out. “Up for a trip to a diner, or should I bring food back here?”

“If I tell you to bring it back here, will you get me something real, or am I gonna get more of the food that my food eats?”

“You’ll get real food, Dean,” Sam told him. And Castiel didn’t even need his grace to know that the younger Winchester was lying - or spinning the truth, as he and Dean had very different definitions of ‘real’ food.

Well, this he could do for Dean. Easily. “If you’re going, could you get me a burger, too, Sam? With cheddar cheese and barbecue sauce - and plenty of fries?”

Sam looked at him suspiciously, but nodded. “Sure thing, Cas.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel said.

“I’ll be right back then,” Sam said, leaving quickly enough that Dean didn’t have a chance to give him his order.

“Bitch,” Dean swore at Sam through the closed door. He looked at Castiel. “I thought you didn’t have to eat.”

The angel shrugged. “I may try a fry or two, but I thought you would appreciate the burger.”

Dean’s smile was definitely worth any argument he might have with Sam about it later. “Thanks, buddy,” the hunter said. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Castiel couldn’t help watching as Dean stripped off his shirt - is was a disconcerting, human habit he had picked up, but with Dean it was as though he had no self-control at all. Not only was the hunter exceedingly pleasing to look at, but their bond seemed to sing whenever Castiel was in such close proximity to him. He was drawn in like a moth to a flame, and he wanted to know and see and feel everything about Dean, inside and out.

Of course, such thoughts were not appropriate, either by angel or Winchester standards, so he resolutely kept them to himself.

It was because he was looking that he noticed exactly what was playing out on Dean’s chest.

“Dean,” Castiel said, getting up to crowd the hunter but carefully not touching him as he leaned in to get a good look.

“Whoa, Cas, I thought we were done with the need for the personal space conversation,” Dean said, leaning back. But Castiel had him almost up against a wall, and there was nowhere for him to go. He inspected the marks that played against Dean’s skin: black veins splaying out from the Mark of Cain, up his arm and shoulder, but no further. From the opposite shoulder, where Dean still had the faint physical remnants of an old scar, shot white lightning, keeping the poison at bay. Keeping the demonic influencing from getting to Dean’s heart, Castiel knew.

“Your chest, Dean,” Castiel told him. “Sam didn’t tell me it looked like this.”

“Like what?” the hunter asked.

“Like angelic grace was fighting the demonic Mark for you,” Castiel explained, lifting his hand to follow the patterns of the lightning, his fingers carefully hovering an inch or two away from Dean’s chest.

“ _Grace?_ ” Dean asked incredulously. “Who’s grace? How?”

Castiel looked and met the hunter’s eyes, surprised he even had to answer the question. “Mine, of course,” he told Dean.

Dean’s mouth snapped shut as he took in that information. “Yours? From -?”

“From when I raised you from Perdition, Dean,” Castiel told him. “From when we forged our bond.”

“But - but _you_ don’t even have your own grace right now,” Dean accused. “How could _I_?”

Castiel shrugged. “I would guess that some part of my grace stayed inside of you, not unlike how traces of an angel’s grace may stay in a vessel long after the angel leaves. Whatever the reason, it seems to be the only thing stopping you from becoming a demon right now.”

“Can you do anything to - I don’t know. Help it out? Strengthen it?” Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. “Not while I have another angel’s grace,” he admitted. He did not tell Dean that even if he could, this grace was fading, and he was afraid of what would happen when he used it up. If he could, he would make that sacrifice for Dean happily. But things being as they were, there was no reason to add that worry to the hunter’s shoulders.

Dean looked down a minute, taking that in, then nodded. “Well, thanks. I guess I owe you another one,” he said.

“I think we moved beyond ‘owing’ each other anything a long time ago,” Castiel told him sagely.

Dean made a face. Castiel knew that face: it was the ‘No Chick Flick Moments’ face. It meant that Dean was looking for an out.

“You should take your shower before Sam returns,” Castiel reminded him gently. He backed up, allowing Dean to get by him without either one inadvertently touching the other.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Yeah, I should.”

Cas watched Dean gather his things and disappear into the bathroom, then he stood there watching the bathroom door as he wondered what this all meant. It was only when he heard the hum of the Impala’s engine that he realized his sustained standing would make the humans uncomfortable, and he took a seat in the motel’s battered old armchair.

When Sam came in with two grilled chicken sandwiches and garden salads, Dean immediately came out of the bathroom and descended on ‘Castiel’s’ burger and fries. Castiel was so lost in thought that he barely noticed the younger Winchester scolding him for the deceit.

 

...

 

Dean didn’t dream that night, or at least he couldn’t remember dreaming. But when he woke up, the urge to go east was even stronger than before, like a geas pushing him forward.

So he rushed them out the door, hovering over them as they packed their bags and called the front desk to check out, telling them they could grab something quick for breakfast on the way. Cas took the duffels again, leaving Sam and Dean to unlock the car and make sure that Dean got in safe - which was really not a problem, _thank you very much, Samantha,_ because Dean was feeling just fine. Or, as fine as he could under the circumstances.

Given the rush, and the fact that Sam and Cas were more concerned with watching Dean than watching their own asses, it was no surprise that they were taken by surprise.

Dean had just made it to the Impala and was opening the passenger door - himself this time - when it started. Three demons came out from their hiding spots in the woods behind the motel, one going for each of the three of them. Dean didn’t have a knife worth anything against demons on him, but Cas had his Baby’s trunk open.

He dived toward the angel as quickly as he could and grabbed one of the angel blades they had stashed there. Sam, on the other side of the car, had done the same with Ruby’s knife, and Cas had his own blade already drawn. The three of them turned, their backs to the car and each other, to engage the demons.

Dean’s demon was wearing a big, meaty guy with thin blonde hair and a dull expression in his eyes. He fought more with strength than anything, punching slow but powerfully, and then moving back out of the way. Even not at 100%, it was easy for Dean to follow his movements, though he found himself scoring several small, painful hits on the demon’s arms and legs, instead of anything that could kill it.

Too late, he realized the trap for what it was. The big lug had lured him half a dozen paces from the Impala, and now three new demons were advancing on him too.

He felt the interest of the Mark in his arm, the black veins spreading out over his hand, but not far enough that they touched the angel blade he was holding. It _wanted_ him to fight. To kill. And these demons were going to give him no choice but to do just that.

He risked a look back at Sam and Cas, but both of them were busy battling their own demons. He’d have to take these on himself, at least for the moment, he thought darkly.

He pivoted to the one on his right, a demon wearing a lithe blonde woman, who thought he didn’t notice her as she rushed toward him from behind a nearby car. When she leapt at him, he was ready for her, using the flat of the angel blade and his free hand to redirect her right into a demon wearing the body of a muscular black man.

The forth demon, this one wearing a pale redhead, came from his left. He moved to do the same trick with her, but his wrist twisted at the last minute, in a way he did not remember giving it permission to go. Instead of knocking her off balance, the blade went straight through her heart.

The Mark of Cain roared in him, exuberant over its first kill in a new body. He could feel it stretching out, euphorically coursing down his stomach and back, into his legs, and up his neck.

Then lightning exploded in his chest, and everything went black.

 

...

 

Sam’s stomach clenched into a knot when he realized they had been played.

Suddenly the demons were retreating, leaving him and Cas alone at the back of the Impala. When he turned to look for Dean, he found that he couldn’t see him anywhere. “Cas! Find Dean!” he called to the angel.

“Here!” Cas called back after a moment, and Sam rushed around the parked cars to where the angel was now kneeling at his brother’s side, looking completely helpless as he held himself back from touching the fallen hunter.

Dean was unconscious on the pavement, angel blade still in hand and covered in red blood. Black veins trailed up his neck, stopping just below his ear.

“Lift his shirt,” Castiel told Sam urgently.

“What -?”

“Lift. His. Shirt,” Cas said, his voice dark and commanding in a way Sam hadn’t heard it since just after Dean’s return to Hell, back before Cas learned anything about the Winchesters or humanity.

Sam obeyed without questioning this time.

Dean’s skin was covered in angry black veins, and bright, scar-like white lightning, almost invisible against his skin. Black went not only up, but down, streaming over his abdomen and disappearing past his waistline. The only area clear of it was his left arm and shoulder, and most of the upper left part of his chest.

“What does that mean?” he asked Cas.

“It hasn’t spread to his heart, or his brain, I think. We have time, but not much,” Castiel told him grimly. “Get him to the car.”

Sam nodded, and lifted his brother to place him bodily in the back seat.

“Massachusetts?” he asked Cas when they were both settled in the front seat.

“As fast as you can get us there,” Cas confirmed.

 

...

 

Dean didn’t rest at all as they drove through New York, though he wasn’t aware of his surroundings. Instead, he was entirely focused on the war waging in his body.

The Mark was spreading. He could feel it - feel it whispering dark, murderous things into his head, trying to change him into something else. Into a demon, a Knight of Hell.

But Cas’s grace was still keeping it at bay. Dean concentrated on it, tried to - he didn’t even know what he was trying to do. Help it? Encourage it? Cheer it on? Whatever it was, it was working. The Mark writhed inside of him, making his skin crawl with its poison, but it wasn’t taking over. It wasn’t changing him. At least not yet.

He was dimly aware, hours later, when Sam stopped the car and held a bottle of water to his lips, telling him he had to drink something.

“We just got to Massachusetts, Dean. Where should we head?” his brother asked kindly, as if it wasn’t absolutely insane to be following a delirious man’s dreams.

“Amherst,” Dean told him, the word spilling out of him without his consent.

He fell back into the seat and held his eyes tightly shut, renewing his concentration on the battle inside.

 

...

 

A little over an hour later, Sam stopped the car and roused Dean again. “We’re just west of Amherst. Where to?” his brother asked.

Dean forced himself to sit up. He could still feel the pull of the statue, clearer now. More focused toward the southeast.

“Let me ride shotgun,” he told Sam. “I can navigate.”

He directed Sam through a series of winding country roads, until they got to a small cemetery.

Nothing about this seemed familiar, from his dream or elsewhere. It was much like many other cemeteries around here: a historical spot, with some graves over three hundred years old and others freshly dug. But this one was different. He could feel it.

They got out of the car, Sam having to help Dean. He hated to admit it, but he was glad he could lean so heavily on his moose of a little brother. He could barely keep himself upright.

“It’s in the back, I think. In the oldest part,” Dean told them, starting them down a long path through the well-kept grounds. “I don’t know what we’re looking for, though.”

“We’ll find it,” Sam assured him.

“This place feels - odd,” Castiel told them as he walked on Sam’s other side. “It feels out of time, somehow.”

Dean knew exactly how the angel felt. It wasn’t the old graves, but something else that just didn’t seem _right_ about it.

It took some work, and more than a few stumbles to get through to the back of the cemetery. Sam had offered to carry Dean, but he would be damned if he let this thing push him that far over the edge. He was not going to have his little brother carry him anywhere.

There was a copse of willow trees in the back, with a few small stone benches around them, as if anyone would want to come out here and just sit. _Maybe adventurous teenagers looking to get laid_ , Dean mused.

Just within the trees’ branches, Dean caught a glimpse of white stone. “There!” he said, gesturing in the appropriate direction. Sam helped him walk through the branches, Cas still at their side.

The statue they found there was just as marvelous as the day it had been created. The day he saw in his dream, he thought in awe. A plaque was placed at its foot reading:

**Angel of the Lord. Said to be a gift from God, to bless this place. 1670.**

Before anyone could say anything, Castiel walked up to it. “Dean,” he breathed. “How did you find this?”

“I don’t know, Cas,” Dean said, leaning into Sam’s side a bit more. That walk had exhausted him far more than it should have. “What is it?”

“It’s - my grace,” Cas told him. The angel put out a hand to touch the statue.

As soon as he did so, the air crackled with electricity. Dean and Sam both closed their eyes, not knowing what they would see if they didn’t. As a result, Dean couldn’t see it when lightning arced from the statue to Castiel, and then straight to Dean’s heart.

 

...

 

_The world exploded in light. Dean’s eyes had been closed, but they weren’t anymore. Couldn’t be, he realized. He was still in something like a body, but it seemed to be made of light and ether, not solid flesh. He could see the darkness of the Mark of Cain all throughout his body, poisoning it. It was a gruesome sight._

_Rainbow lightning filled the air, overwhelming him and surrounding him with millions of electric fingers. Once he was fully engulfed, it concentrated itself on his right arm, filling him with bright-white fire._

_It didn’t hurt though. Nothing hurt anymore. He felt like nothing would ever hurt again – no pain, nothing bad could ever touch him here. Wherever he was._

**_“We’ve been here before, Dean.”_ **

_Cas’s voice was huge and overpowering, but bewilderingly gentle at the same time. He was_ Castiel, Angel of the Lord _, and there was nothing beyond him and his words._

_“Cas? What’s happening?”_

_He heard a gentle flap of feathers, and then felt as though they, too surrounded him. Invisible though they were, he could feel Cas’s wings creating a soft, silken barrier between him and the lightning. Only a single, strong umbilical cord connected his arm to the walls of this place._

_The angel didn’t directly answer his question. Instead, he asked, **“Do you remember, Dean, when I raised you from Perdition? Do you remember what happened then?”**_

_And suddenly, as though the memories had been prodded out of their hiding spaces, Dean did. He remembered standing over the rack, knife in hand, planning out his next incision on the soul before him. He remembered looking up with onyx eyes, and recognizing a garrison of angels as it flew toward him._

_He remembered_ Castiel _in that moment, bright and beautiful and the most pure thing he had ever seen. He was caught up in Castiel’s grace, flown out of Hell in a cocoon much like this._

_“You remade me here,” Dean said, something like awe in his voice._

**_“Yes, before,”_ ** _Cas told him. The lightning – Castiel’s grace, in its purest form – tried to pull the darkness of the Mark of Cain from his arm. **“It’s harder this time, Dean. We need to fight it together.”**_

 _“How do we do that?” Dean asked. To him, it felt like the darkness was gone, a memory of a poor decision made by another man. There was only light and grace and_ Cas _here._

 _The warm, solid touch of Cas’s hand slid over Dean’s left arm, fitting it into the place where Cas’s old handprint was still a shade lighter than the rest of his skin. **“Did you forget, Dean?”** Cas asked, bemused at Dean’s surprised. **“Did you forget, when you took the Mark of Cain, that you already bore**_ **my _Mark?”_**

 _“Something like that,” Dean admitted, dazed. The feel of Cas touching him like this – he could feel the angel throughout his body. He understood on a molecular level that_ this _was what had been staving off the repercussions of taking the Mark. Castiel’s Mark had fought against Cain’s, and had saved him even then._

 **_“Let me in, Dean?”_ ** _Cas requested. **“You’re still human. I need consent this time.”**_

_“Anything you need,” Dean told the angel. “Anything you want, is yours.”_

_Warmth like love filled Dean. It flowed into him, filling him up and lighting every bit of him with Holy light. Dean almost laughed as it chased away the last of the darkness brought upon by the Mark, leaving a heady, happy feeling in its wake._

_He watched as the lightning pulled the darkness out in front of him. It looked like the sigil that had been on Dean’s arm now, taking shape as a solid, red-black figure surrounded by wisps of red and black smoke._

_Another bit of lightning, this one pure white, and much weaker than Castiel’s grace, shot out and began to wind itself around the Mark, insulating it and preventing the smoke from escaping. When it was fully enveloped, the grace flared bright, then dimmed as it solidified to what looked like a glass teardrop around the Mark._

**_“The last of Theo’s grace,”_ ** _Cas explained. **“He would have been proud to protect the world from such evil, if the angels had not changed so completely.”**_

_Dean felt more than heard the mourning in Cas’s voice: it was like a dark shadow, cooling and pulling at his skin even in this world of perfect light._

_“I think he’d probably still be proud,” Dean told the angel reassuringly._

**_“Hmmm,”_ ** _Cas replied noncommittally. Dean felt it throughout his being as Cas turned his attention back to him. The lightning-grace trailed through his body, as if taking inventory. **“You’ve made quite the mess of yourself, Dean,”** the angel mused._

_Dean would have shrugged, but he wasn’t completely sure he was in control of his physical form. “You do what you have to out there,” he said lamely._

_If Cas had a physical body right now, Dean was sure he would have shook his head. **“**_ **You _do whatever seems necessary, without thinking things through,”_** _Cas chided him. **“But with Cain’s Mark gone – there.”**_

 _Dean felt it as the angel started to_ change _things in him. He could feel him soothing old anger, and older pain.  Healing the places where the Mark had burned through him, then strengthening his resolve against demonic influence. Feathers brushed against his right arm, reconstructing the place where the Mark had been. Dean tensed, suddenly scared of what Cas could do to him like this._

 **_“Relax, Dean, I've done this before, remember? I know you better this time,”_ ** _Castiel reassured him._

_Dean remembered Cas putting him back together in vivid detail now – remembered the careful touches of the angel, the almost clinical way he fit the pieces of Dean’s soul back together. He had told Dean all the things he admired – his devotion to family, what he had done for Sam, his passion for saving lives – as he worked, but he also admonished Dean’s womanizing ways, his habits of hustling pool and scamming credit cards._

_This time, there was only love and unconditional acceptance in Cas’s touch. He rode the high it gave him, astonished that an angel – this being, whom he could barely comprehend – showed so much care for him._

_Even more astonished that it was Castiel._ His _angel._ His _friend, who after everything they had gone through together, he still trusted to have his back implicitly. Who he still loved._

_“It wasn’t like this last time,” Dean mused to the angel._

**_“Of course it wasn’t,”_ ** _Castiel told him. **“I didn’t know what it meant to love like this, then.”**_

 _Dean tensed again at the words. Sure, he_ knew _how Cas felt; he could feel it himself. But for it to be tossed out there so casually, so fearlessly –_

 **_“We cannot lie to each other here, Dean. Not like this,”_ ** _Cas told him. **“I’m sure you noticed…”**_

_Cas’s grace warmed as though –_

_“Are you_ blushing?” _Dean asked Cas with a smirk._

 **_“Angels do not blush, Dean,”_ ** _Cas deadpanned at him._

The Hell they don’t, _Dean thought with a silent laugh. Though he was reasonable sure Cas was reading his mind as well._

_“You know I love you too, right?” Dean replied. How could he not? Here, with all that he was – all he could be – laid out in front of him, there was no denying it. He wondered, vaguely, how he had possibly gone this long without saying it._

**_“I know,”_ ** _Cas told him._

_Dean spluttered. “Did you just Han Solo me?”_

_He thought he felt the angel wink, but that could have been his imagination._

_Dean didn’t know exactly what Cas was doing to him, though he trusted the angel completely. He only knew that it made him feel amazing, even after he had stopped. As the angel finished, Dean felt the retreating grace. It didn’t leave him feeling empty and dark as he had expected, but instead whole and clean – probably for the first time in years._

_Dean wondered at the feeling, doing his best to trace the path of every bit of grace in his mind, until there was nothing left but the feel of Cas’s hand on his shoulder, vibrating with unrelenting love. The two of them took a moment to just bask in that feeling between them._

**_“Ready to go back?”_ ** _Cas asked eventually._

_Dean wanted to say ‘no,’ but he knew better. “I guess we should let Sammy know we’re alright,” he said instead._

_Cas’s warm chuckle vibrated through him again. **“Sam**_ **is _quite worried,”_** _the angel told him. **“Close your eyes.”**_

_Dean did, and he relaxed into Cas as the world faded to a comforting black._

 

...

 

When Dean took his next breath, it was with a solid, human body again. He opened his eyes, and found himself back in the graveyard, though he was now huddled in Castiel’s arms, feeling weak and vulnerable. The teardrop talisman that held the Mark of Cain was grasped tightly in his right hand.

Sam was standing over them protectively, angel blade in hand, looking out into the graveyard. He didn’t seem to realize they were awake yet.

He took a moment to look up at Castiel, wondering if everything that had just happened was real. A little to Sam’s right, Dean saw that the angel statue was still intact, but it had lost its luster, and now reminded him of any old, faded statue or headstone.

He looked up to Cas, half wondering if everything had really just changed as much as he thought it had.

Cas nodded at him silently, then leaned down to kiss him full on the lips. It wasn’t a shy kiss, nor a hot, desperate kiss, both of which he had fantasized about before on probably too many occasions. This was a strong, self-confident kiss; it was the kind of kiss shared between lovers, for no reason other than the need to show how much they cared.

Dean let himself melt into that kiss a little. When they broke apart, Cas dropped his head for a moment and leaned his forehead against Dean’s. They sat there, quietly drinking in each other’s scent and smiling a little giddily, until Sam shifted his stance, and they knew they had to come back to reality before Sam dragged them back.

Cas gave Dean a quick peck on the lips before sitting upright. “We are alright, Sam,” Castiel called to his brother, getting his attention. “Both of us.”

Sam dropped the blade and rushed over to kneel beside Dean. He took Dean’s face in his hand and moved his head to the left, inspecting his neck for black veins, then reached for his right arm and pushed up his sleeve.

“Jeeze, lay off,” Dean said, pushing his hands away, though he wasn’t strong enough to be very effective yet. “Like Cas said, I’m good. The Mark’s gone.” He stared down at the newly revealed arm though. The skin was pale and whole, devoid of old scars as well as the Mark. Where the Mark of Cain had been there was now a small, white, barely noticeable scar in the shape of a feather. Cas must have left it there when he had Dean in his wings. It made Dean want to smile.

“What happened?” Sam asked, leaving one hand on Dean’s arm like he was afraid his brother was going to disappear or something. “One minute you were leaning on me, and Cas was at the angel statue, and the next, the two of you were on the ground, together, completely unresponsive.”

“Apologies, Sam. I did not mean to worry you. I was taken by surprise,” Cas answered. “Our bodies were here, but our spirits were not. I was healing Dean, the only way I knew how.”

Dean opened his hand, letting Sam take the remnants of the Mark to inspect for himself.

“Once I had my own grace back, I was able to extract the Mark of Cain and trap it in what’s left of Theo’s grace,” Cas told him, nodding at the talisman. “It’s safe like that.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, looking like he was about to drop the damn thing.

“Exceedingly,” Cas told him. He rubbed a hand up and down Dean’s arm, and Dean found that he liked the feeling. He pressed closer to Cas, seeping up the angel’s warmth.

“What are we going to do with it now?” Sam asked, completely oblivious. Dean’s mouth twitched into a grin. Not that he wanted to keep this from his brother, but his lack of observation was kinda hilarious, and definitely something to mock later.

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted, almost bitterly. “Take it back to the bunker and secure it, certainly. It may be useful later, but I don’t know much about that kind of magic.”

“What happened there, with your grace?” Dean asked, redirecting the conversation. “How did it get here?”

“Metatron, I believe,” Castiel told them. “If I’m not mistaken, he hid it in the past.”

“He what?” Sam asked.

“He went back in time, and hid my grace in this spot sometime around 1670. No one was looking for a new holy place here, back then. And no one would have noticed it. By the time any of us would have looked for it, it was so much a part of the landscape that we would have never realized it was what I had just lost. When my grace woke up in Dean to fight the Mark, it lead him here.”

“So, what, your grace was just rotting here for almost three hundred and fifty years?” Dean asked.

“Not rotting,” Castiel told him indignantly.  “Growing. Unchecked, and without use to drain it. It’s stronger now than it was when I lost it. If it wasn’t, I’m not sure I would have been able to do that.” The angel nuzzled his cheek against Dean’s head. “I’m very glad I was.”

That must have finally caught Sam’s attention, because suddenly his face went from concerned to kinda sappy and questioning. “What else happened there?”

“None of your business, Samantha,” Dean said.

At the same time, Cas said, “Dean and I revealed our love for each other.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his angel. And at his brother, who now sported the most annoyingly sentimental look.

“Finally!” Sam said, which was - ok, not what Dean was expecting from his brother, but whatever.

“Just help me get back to the Impala,” Dean said, not really sure how to deal with this conversation and therefore ending it.

Sam rolled his eyes at him, then had the nerve to give Castiel a sympathetic look.

“I can fly us there,” Cas offered. He tightened his hold on Dean, as though he was not willing to let the hunter out of his grasp just yet. Dean did not mind at all.

“Your wings are back?” Sam asked, face going incredulous.

“I was no longer an angel when Metatron’s spell was triggered, and this grace was dormant at the time,” Castiel explained. “I think that spared me this, at least.”

The angel reached out and put his hand on Sam’s shoulders. Dean braced himself against Cas’s chest and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, the two of them were cuddled in the back seat of the Impala, Sam in front.

“Really, guys?” Sam asked teasingly as he looked back at them in the rear view mirror.

“Just shut up and drive, Samantha,” Dean told him. “Preferably to someplace where I can order my own burger. And pie. I’m starving.”

Dean could see the shaking of Sam’s shoulders as he laughed silently, but he chose to ignore it. It was good to see his brother in a good mood, and better to know that he approved of this thing that was apparently happening between him and Castiel.

As Sam started the car up and began to drive, Dean pulled Cas down and started to kiss him, slower and deeper than the angel had kissed him before. Cas seemed momentarily surprised, but then he started to pick up on exactly what Dean was doing and started kissing back just as deep.

Dean pulled away and smiled wickedly. Good thing Cas was a fast learner, because he had a world of things to teach the angel.

 


End file.
